


Imagine Kili Trying To Convince You To Draw A Picture Of Him

by forestofmyown



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofmyown/pseuds/forestofmyown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted on tumblr:  http://forestofmyown.tumblr.com/post/73668948244/imagine-kili-trying-to-convince-you-to-draw-a</p>
    </blockquote>





	Imagine Kili Trying To Convince You To Draw A Picture Of Him

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr: http://forestofmyown.tumblr.com/post/73668948244/imagine-kili-trying-to-convince-you-to-draw-a

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“Nope.”

“Pretty, pretty please?”

“Kili-” You moan, eyes shutting with frustration. Last much longer you won’t, for none can hold out against him, and he knows it. Kili is, after all, in possession of both the most tempting, boyish smile and sweetest, heart-breaking puppy-dog eyes known to all man, dwarf, and elf kind.

Curse him, you think. Curse him and his dwarven good looks, beard or no beard.

“Just one picture-”

“Alright.” You cave, cutting off yet another plea that could possibly kill you from sheer adorableness. Let none say you have no heart, except that Kili melted the darned thing with the joyful, excited smile he now gives you. Gracious, you’re putty in his hands, you are.

You wave your hand in a half-hearted motion, letting it flop back into your lap. “Just … pick a pose you like and sit still, alright?”

Still grinning, Kili pops up and fixes his coat a bit. He spots his brother’s sword lying with the rest of the weapons by the door and rushes over to it, drawing the blade and scampering back. Pausing, he stares at it, then tests several poses, making dissaproving faces at the ones he doesn’t like.

“How ‘bout this?” He strikes another one, looking dramatic, and a barking laugh erupts from you.

Kili frowns, dropping the pose and swinging the sword lazily. “What are you laughing for? Aw, come on, don’t laugh. I look impressive! … don’t I?”

You nod your head enthusiastically, mouth firmly pressed shut. He cocks his brows at you, and the laughter sputters out again.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You cry, trying to calm down.

Kili rolls his eyes, but a small smile is on his face, and he watches you patiently.

“Just stay like that, alright?” You tell him, pulling some parchment off the nearby desk and picking out a few sharpened charcoal sticks. “Be a bit more natural.”

“Nothin’ unnatural about me being fierce.” He shoots back. But then he shrugs and leans his brother’s sword against the wall, settling down on a footstool.

You smile and shake your head, spreading the parchment on a book and placing it against your knees, drawing them up closer to begin your sketch. Quick, light lines first. A general skeleton sitting the right way, then another layer to add the clothes that thicken the frame. When things begin to look about right, you start darkening the lines you want to show up, scratching away with the charcoal, smudging mistakes into shadows.

The body is fairly easy. It’s always the face that defines a protrait like this, however. To capture the beauty in a live expression for one moment in eternity, that is the duty of art, the challenge.

And it’s ten times harder when that face is one so perfect in its imperfection. That tilted grin, those shining eyes, the careful, watching look that’s fixed on you as though you are something wonderful, something worth remembering forever.

You swallow, aware of the heat growing in your face, the tightening in your chest. You want to stare at him till the last light fades with the age, and yet you want to look anywhere but at him.

Your hand shakes. You don’t trust it, or your skill, with a task like this. With him, with his face. At the same time, every fiber of your being, your very existance as an artist, demands this. You can’t not capture this moment, even if it takes a hundred tries.

Charcoal to parchment, you begin again.

By the time you’re finished, your arm aches. You drop the tiny stub of what’s left of the charcoal and gently blow the dust off of the page, admiring. Curse Kili and his face, you almost mutter. You’ve never drawn anything so beautiful.

Aware of the growing warmth beside your ear, you feel your muscles freeze solid. Kili’s face leans over your shoulder – when had he moved? - to peer at the complete sketch-turned-full-on-portrait.

“Wow,” he breathes, air tingling the skin of your cheek and neck. “You really are amazingly talented. That’s brilliant.”

Never again, you promise yourself. This isn’t good for your heart. It’ll probably never beat right again.

Curse these dwarves - and this mischievious prince in particular!


End file.
